So, Aren't You Going to Fight?
The killing intent Leon scattered among his enemies was a show of force, an invitation, and a provocation all at once.
No matter how vicious it was, would any of Elprime's cadets really turn tail and flee just from a blast of murderous aura?
No.
And they couldn't afford to.
Even if they truly were terrified, even if they desperately wanted to run — countless people were watching in real time from outside. Pride and honor alone forbade it.
So after the initial shock and turmoil of that killing intent washed over them, they collected themselves, faces flushed red, brows twisted tight. Fear and confusion transformed into rage and competitive fire. With a single-minded resolve to pay back the bastard who'd dared provoke them like this, they stormed forward on furious feet.
A little farther on, the killing intent withdrew. Thanks to that, they reached their destination — the very heart of the field — in short order.
The place they arrived at carried a thoroughly strange atmosphere. Wilderness, mountains, wheat fields, a river course, open plains, rolling hills — six entirely different terrains stretched out like arms, their hands clasped together in a single space.
The three classes that had been in the central zone arrived almost simultaneously. Class G from the eastern wheat fields. Class D from the northwestern mountains. And Class E, who'd followed the southern river. As if by prior arrangement, they all poked their heads out from their respective sectors at once.
Because Leon had released his killing intent, withdrawn it, and deliberately timed their arrivals.
Of course, they had no way of knowing that. They simply locked eyes on the black-haired boy at the edge of their vision and lit up.
"Leon Crusif!"
"Wait — he's alone?!"
One glance was enough to know it was him. He'd changed back into Class A's uniform with its red identification tag, and his mask was pulled down below his chin, revealing that distinctive, manic smile. As if he'd forgotten this was the middle of a battlefield, he sat perched atop a massive boulder, looking thoroughly at ease.
"Everyone made it?"
He even waved, as though greeting old friends.
The dark clouds blanketing the night sky parted for a moment, and moonlight poured down across his face. His eyes, catching the lunar glow, flashed with a brilliant light.
"…"
A peculiar silence settled over the area. A storm of emotions was thrashing through the cadets.
Bewilderment and doubt at the sheer confidence of a man standing alone. Rage at the arrogance of thinking he could face this many people by himself. A thousand thoughts whirled through their minds.
How the hell did he fire those luminous arrows?
Where did the rest of Class A go? Why is he alone…?
Obviously he's prepared some kind of scheme.
Or is he just a lunatic doing lunatic things?
No, even so — in a situation like this…
"—What are you doing?"
Leon's voice carried a strange mana. Though it was clearly a low murmur, it pierced straight through their ears and into their brains, hammering their cluttered thoughts into clarity and snapping them awake.
"Quit overthinking it."
As he spoke, he casually brought a hand near his waist.
"So. Aren't you going to fight?"
A snort of laughter.
Then — whoosh!
Pale afterimages bloomed around Leon. Only a handful of the most skilled cadets among them even registered that he'd swung his arm and thrown something. He was simply too fast — his arm visible only as a blur of residual light.
Of course, recognizing it didn't mean they could dodge it. The time between perception and reaction was far too short.
KRAAAAAAAAAANG—!!!
A massive boom erupted all at once — but the explosions went off in three places.
"Uwaaagh?!"
"Gyaaaaaah!"
Bluish remnants of mana rained down, and shockwaves rippled outward in concentric circles, flinging cadets aside. Two bombs per class — six in total. Mana bombs detonated among the cadet formations that had been spread out in a wide triangle.
Those closest to the blast points were half-unconscious; a few were eliminated on the spot. The effect of the mana bombs was in a completely different league from what Class J had managed. It wasn't that Leon's model was superior — his throwing technique simply was. The deep darkness and the fact that their enemy was alone had also made the cadets a touch complacent, slowing their reactions.
"…You son of a bitch!"
"Damn it, Colt!"
"Everyone, stay sharp!"
Belated curses and shouts flooded the area. The faces of the cadets who'd been blindsided by the sudden ambush filled with raw indignation. In the span of a single blink, they'd lost several of their own to a lone enemy without even managing to resist. It was absurd. It was infuriating.
"Ahh~ so boring~."
Leon's languid voice brushed their ears. He was still sitting comfortably, mouth stretched wide, hand raised near his face in a deliberately theatrical yawn.
"Wow, that really pisses me off."
"Th-that bastard!"
"I've had just about enough of…!"
The cadets' eyes spun wild. It was an obvious provocation — but they'd been taking these provocations one after another, in every shape and form imaginable. After getting hit with bombs on top of everything else, their reason had long since flown out of reach.
He was alone, after all. Why were they even being cautious?
Right. Just like Leon said — no need to overcomplicate things.
"Kill him!"
Someone shouted. Crude, but clear. What more needed to be said?
As if that cry were the signal flare — thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
Cadets grinding their teeth to the breaking point kicked off the ground in unison. Black silhouettes surged like a pack of wild dogs, converging on a single point.
The distance between Leon and the cadets was about a hundred meters — but for enraged Expert-rank martial artists, a few seconds was more than enough. The gap closed in an instant. From a distance, it looked like three thick black lines drawing toward the center.
"Puhah."
And so, with dozens of enemies surrounding him on all sides, Leon rose from the rock he'd been sitting on, a faint smile on his lips.
A murderous presence stabbed at him from every direction. The fierce mana they poured out made the air itself thrash and seethe. But not a trace of crisis could be found in his expression.
This situation was exactly what he'd been waiting for all along.
All that remained was to put on a show.
"Well then."
The pitch-black mask pulled back up over his nose. His crimson eyes began to scatter a bloody light.
"Shall we begin?"
The moment the words left his mouth —
Puh-puh-puh-puh-puh-puh-BOOM!!!
A thick fog rolled in across the entire area.
Hwaaaaaah!
In an instant, pure white smoke blanketed their vision.
"Ugh?!"
The cadets charging Leon reflexively threw up their arms to shield their faces. Of course, it wasn't an attack that would harm them — just dense, heavy smoke.
Whoooooosh!
The smoke vaulted over their heads and stretched all the way to the rear in a heartbeat. The cadets were plunged deep into a sea of fog. A ticklish sensation brushed their skin. The air they breathed carried the smell of blanched mushrooms.
Almost nothing was visible. The world had turned entirely white. They couldn't see a single step ahead — only the faint outlines of the comrades beside them.
"Smoke!"
"Smoke bombs…!"
A few cadets identified the fog for what it was. Smoke bombs — clearly obtained from the Grade 3 zone where consumables dropped. If he'd used everything that came out of there, this volume of smoke wasn't surprising.
Of course —
"This pathetic crap!"
Right. It was useless. Unexpected, sure, but nothing to panic over. So what now? Smoke couldn't hurt them at all. It might buy a little time, that was all.
"Leon — where's Leon?!"
"Find him, now!"
Obviously he'd set off the smoke to escape. They had to catch that arrogant little rat before he slipped away. The cadets quickly recovered their composure and spread out their sensory perception.
But finding a single presence in a chaotic space packed with dozens of martial artists was extraordinarily difficult. And with Leon using the Heavenly Escape Steps, it was harder still.
One cool-headed cadet frowned and started to speak.
"We should head outside first and—"
Her words cut off unnaturally.
"…?"
The cadet right beside her felt a flicker of unease and turned his head.
"…!"
And he saw it. Her form crumbling to the ground, mana wrapping around her as the transfer out of the field began.
Ambush!
His eyes flew wide. Someone was using this chaos to attack them. He had to warn the others. He sucked in a breath, opening his mouth to shout —
"Mm—?!"
No. He tried to open it. And realized his mouth was already clamped shut by someone's hand.
Before goosebumps could even rise on his skin, a cold, chilling sensation touched his throat.
A blade.
Shhk!
A bone-chilling sensation passed through. Everything above his neck burned as if on fire. Not a sound escaped his open mouth. Strength drained from his body, locking every fingertip rigid. He felt mana slowly enveloping him from head to toe.
"…!"
The last thing the cadet saw before being eliminated was a red gleam of eyes drawn long across the empty air — and Leon, body fading into a blur, already surging toward his next target.
"It's Class C!"
"No — why is Class F attacking us?!"
And all around him, his comrades were being assaulted by other classes, plunging into total chaos.
Ah, damn it…
At last, he understood.
They weren't hunting a rat.
They were being hunted by a predator.